Wonder Boy made his first reconciliation recently, in preparation for his first Communion in May. I kept calling it “first confession,” because that’s the term I grew up with. It was a bit nerve-wracking for me, although I don’t remember the event itself, just the nerves I had waiting in line to receive the sacrament.

What can an 8-year-old confess, anyway?

Wonder Boy seemed unfazed, solemnly sitting across from Fr. Michael. I don’t think he said much. He just listened a while to the priest, bent his head down for a blessing, and shook Father’s hand. (In the pews, I resisted the urge to make a list of his young transgressions and pass it to him: “Listen, kid, you should take a longer time than that with this list! Believe me, I know!”)

Confession is good for the soul. I believe “love is never having to say you’re sorry” is just a glib one-liner. Love means having to say sorry every day at our house: you squished brother’s arm roughhousing, “I’m sorry.” You grabbed the last Gogurt from the fridge, the one your little sister wanted. You went over your agreed time on the iPad.

Hubby forgot to take the garbage bins out (you can bet I will make sure he feels sorry!)

The other day I forgot to bring Firstborn’s P.E. shorts and he had to play basketball in his khakis. My son magnanimously forgave me with a shrug: “I should’ve remembered to bring it, Mom.”

My family is certainly familiar with my many shortcomings.

The latest evolution of “I’m sorry,” in our family comes after we say those two words: we wait to be forgiven. While apologizing is a tough row to hoe around here, with the “I’m sorry” often bitten out between clenched teeth or barked out in anger, bestowing forgiveness comes surprisingly easy to my kids.

If one got in trouble, the other usually helps set things right. And even if they are truly, growlingly angry with each other, if I ask one to think up of a punishment for their sibling, they will balk: “Never mind, Mom,” or “You have to give Mom 200 hugs and kisses!”

Wonder Boy once grabbed his toy back from his little sister and shouted at her to let go. I made him apologize for grabbing and shouting, then made him stand in front of her and wait for her to say he was forgiven. He did so, sulking.

Cheeky, tears still wet on her face, at once ran to hug him, “It’s OK, brother. It’s all right.”